


Thorned Roses

by JahStorybook



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Blooming Rose, Carver is Sweet For Once, Drugged Sex, Fluff, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, In this house we support Mages, Incest, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), M/M, Mild Language, Not between Carver and Hawke, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Some real dark stuff in first chapter, Taboo topics, softness ahead, some smut, templar Carver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JahStorybook/pseuds/JahStorybook
Summary: After saving his brother from the hands of a Templar, Carver decided to be there for Hawke.





	1. Slipped

It wasn't often that Hawke found himself at The Rose all by himself, but he had business with a corrupt templar who demanded the scenery and privacy. As uncomfortable as meeting a templar made Hawke, the lovely people who swarmed him as he entered the establishment made him feel right at home. You could smell the excitement rolling off them in waves at seeing him on his own for once.

"I'm meeting someone today, sorry lovelies." Disappointed but not surprised they dispersed, muttering about sodding good manners and catching him later. Hawke smiled.

"Serah Hawke?" Glancing up, Hawke saw that sitting as secluded as possible was familiar armor and messy blonde hair. The templar he was meeting, most probably.

"You sent a letter that I was to meet you here. What business do you have for me?" Not the friendliest opening, but Hawke was tired, in need of a drink, and completely done with these mystery types.

"No rush, come and sit with me, I'll walk you through it." Ugh. And he's a buddy type, too. Hawke resisted the urge to growl out an excuse to leave and sat down across from the templar. Playing nice wasn't his strong suit. "Now, introductions. I work for Cullen."

"Don't most templars work for Cullen in this city," Hawke snapped out, wondering why he was in such a fowl mood.

"No need for such hostility, friend. But yes. I run reports between him and the lowers." Hawke didn't bother mentioning that he didn't care and also that the man hadn't actually introduced himself.

"Fascinating. I assume then that you require me to smuggle something that you would rather not deliver?" The man laughed, a sinister sound among the normal giggles of the working whores and drunken customers.

"Nothing like that. Why don't I get you a drink, this request is going to sound dull in comparison to that." Hawke suddenly felt suspicious. 

"No, thank you. I'm afraid I don't drink without my companions to keep me in check." The man nodded but Hawke saw the clear disappointment in his eyes.

"Very well. I'm told that you are an apostate." The room went silent. Hawke glanced around slowly, eyeing the nearby women who'd clearly been listening in. Under his stare they all looked away and went back to their conversations. They knew to stay out of this. "And one who carries power if that display is anything to go by!"

"We're done here. Tell the knight-captain to shove off." As Hawke tried to stand something caught his hand.

"I'm not here to bring you in to the circle," the man said, voice almost gentle now. 

"Blackmail then? Everyone already knows of my little secret," Hawke seethed as he pulled his hand away.

"And it makes no difference to me. I'm not here because of that or under any orders of my superiors. I'm here to offer you something." Straightening at that, Hawke blinked slowly, letting the man continue. "Caught your attention finally? Good. Sit back down, please?"

"Only if you start talking faster. I don't play these games." Hawke decided to settle into his spot nonetheless, curious now.

"I have heard much about you, have seen what you've done for this city and it's people. You once helped my own flesh and blood, believe it or not. I'm grateful, Hawke. I'd like to pay you back." Their audience had returned it seemed, and as a woman came to set another drink down before the templar, Hawke made to lean away again. A tight grip on his arm stopped him. The woman noticed and left quickly. 

"Pay me how?" He moved in close, pulling Hawke over the table. 

"How would you like to take this into a private room?" Hawke's heart sped up and he glanced around to see if anyone heard that.

"This is a trap," he stated plainly. The man cocked a sly grin and shook his head.

"It is not. It doesn't have to be here. We could go to that fancy place of yours, or maybe slip out the back. I won't pressure you, the choice is all yours. Tell me, though, how would you like me to have you against the wall? I could do things you've only dreamed of." Hawke was acutely aware of what this was. Calling him an apostate in a room full of people was to scare him, wind him up. Scare him so much he simply went with whatever the templar said. Of course it didn't work but… how long had it been since Hawke gave in to desire? It felt like years. Maybe just once he could enjoy an easy gentle night.

"I'll be needing a drink after all it seems," Hawke said, sitting back and keeping eye contact with the man who's name he didn't even care to ask at this point.

"That's the spirit!"

* * *

While they talked and drank, Hawke had to listen to the man's poor attempt at foreplay, or so he thought that's what it was. Maybe it was just drunken rambling.

"I can protect you from the others, you know. A pretty face like yours is worth saving from men who swing their swords without thinking." Was he offering to protect him from templar injustice or templar assault? Hawke wasn't sure but he was almost done with his second pint and drinking anymore would be dangerous.

"You mentioned a private room," Hawke said, leaning forward to watch the templar smile. Some small part of him hoped that the man would drink more and simply pass out, but that hadn't been the case. Both of them were being cautious it seemed. Too late to run now. One good tumble in the sheets, helped along with alcohol, surely wouldn't be too bad. What a laugh, Hawke thought. 

"I can get us one right here." Hawke was pulled up and dragged along as the man hastily requested one of the rooms as well as something else. Probably just oil, but Hawke hadn't been listening. The moment he'd stood up the room seemed to spin out of control and it was all he could do to remain standing. Had the Blooming Rose replaced the usual swill with something stronger?

Somehow he made it to a bed, one that rushed up to meet him fast. Had he been shoved or had he simply fallen?

"You look so good like that. Submitting." Like hell he was submitting. Hawke's don't submit. They are equals, champions, loyal and faithful people and not dogs that submit to a master's command. Hawke pushed himself up, legs hanging over the end of the bed. He probably looked like he was offering himself up like this; leaned back with his legs spread. He wasn't.

"I think I've changed my mind. What was in my drink?" The templar grabbed his hands and raised them up, grip like iron. The movement dragged Hawke off the bed, his butt leaving the comfortable mattress and his feet dragging back on the floor. Hawke glanced up to watch as his wrists were tied up with red ribbons, soft at first but biting when he tried to pull them free. "Stop. Untie me."

"But you look so good like this," he said as he released Hawke's hands and let him hang from the bed posts, knees barely scraping the bed when he tried to get them under him. Hawke moved to slide forward but was stopped by a hand on his chest.

"I don't like being chained up." They held eye contact for a bit, staring each other down. Hawke realized then that he could barely keep his eyes open. The man laughed.

"Just hush and enjoy it. I'll show you a good time, I promise." Soon his clothes were being pulled off so fast he was sure they were torn. As exposed as he was, that's not what worried him. What worried him was the feel of something leathery against his back as the templar turned him away to face the headboard. He was going to be whipped! 

"Stop!" It came down hard against his flesh, making Hawke arch away and cry out. Pain had never done it for him. He preferred gentleness and a certain soft caress from his lover. Call him boring, but for Hawke that was all he wanted, all he needed.

"How many do you think it'll take to get you begging? Ten? Twenty? Maybe if your good I'll let you pick." He needed to get free. He needed to get free and beat the ever loving shit out of this man and maybe vomit. Another thwap and pain blossomed across his lower back. 

"Stop! Stop it! This isn't what I'm into!" The whip moved lower, spreading his legs apart with force. Where had his strength gone? Why was he merely hanging limp unable to push back? He really had been drugged, hadn't he? The swirling of his vision as ge tried to turn suggested just that, as well as the slow of his heartbeat. 

"How about this?" Something wet slipped between his spread legs, running up his thighs and pushing them apart further. It pressed against the tight ring of muscle as the templar grabbed a handful of his ass and Hawke gasped as he felt it slip in. Too fast, too big. Had he put the whip in? No, he could feel that pressed into his thigh and dugging into his skin in the hand on his ass. This was something else, something metal and wide and intrusive. He couldn't get a look at it though and something told him he wouldn't want to see it anyway. "You like that? I had them leave us some toys to play with hefore the main event." 

"Take it out," Hawke growled, trying not to wince as he felt it push deeped. The whip moved away from his thigh before coming back hard against it, causing Hawke to jerk forward. Not even the Maker could help him now, he realized. He bit back a cruel laugh, wincing as the whip came down over his ass, hitting the cold metal pressed into him. 

It started moving up higher with each strike and Hawke briefly wondered if the man was leaving some intricate design or just wanted all of Hawke bloodied and bruised. At some point the pretence of pleasure was dropped and the whip started coming down even harder on his spread thighs while a hand pumped the tool in him. It felt mechanical, not pleasurable. Like he was being punished and used simultaneously.

"I think I'd like to see your face for this next part," the templar said when the whip stopped cracking against his bloody thighs, amused as he moved Hawke to face him once more. He had taken his armor off and stood with his pants unbuckled and his cock tenting. "Have you ever had something like this before? It's not easy to get in but once it is I'm told it feels real good." 

"No," Hawke breathed, kicking away with renewed strength when the man stepped closer. Whatever had been buried in him slipped out in his struggling and his legs were caught in his moment of surprise and discomfort. The templar stepped between them quickly, hands dropping to pull his cock out. "Stop! Please, don't do this, you don't have to do this!"

"Get away from him!" Hawke's blurry vision allowed him to see as the templar was hauled back and thrown into a wall, but not who it was standing over him. "Stand up you piece of shit!"

"What are you doing here? This doesn't concern you, boy," the templar spit as he got up. He was struck back down with a powerful right hook. Hawke's head may have started to droop, but he got some pleasure from the sight of that man dropping like a squashed bug. 

"Garret?" His savior, his Maker-sent helping hand, stepped in closer and Hawke sobbed. 

"Carver?" Oh no. His brother fell forward, cutting through the ties holding him up and catching him as he nearly hit the floor slipped off the bed. Hawke hissed in pain as hands fell on some of the marks along his back and he could have sworn he heard a string of curses come from his younger brother.

"Hey, Garret? Look up at me. Open your eyes." Hawke couldn't. His head was foggy and his body stung all over, but mainly he couldn't see Carver's face after what his brother had seen of him. He was too ashamed, too embarrassed, and worst of all completely bare still. Something soft came around his shoulders and Hawke relaxed just barely. "Hawke, you can't even keep standing!"

"Poison," he offered weakly, and wondered if maybe it was of the deadly variety. Maybe he was dying and he wouldn't have to ever look anyone in the face again after this awful night. 

"What did you say? Hawke, did you say poison?" Carver seemed frantic as he dragged Hawke upright, taking his face in those big hands and Maker's breath he was gentle. Hawke looked at him at last, eyes heavy but suddenly very clear.

"Thank you," he whispered, glad to see that Carver looked much the same as he did years ago. Although his face was a little concerned and his lips were moving to say something that got lost in a sudden void of silence. Hawke was pulled closer and was thankful for the numbness spreading up his arms when he was lowered into a lap; Hawke bundled in both a soft blanket and his brother's arms. He would have said more but it seemed he'd finally reached the end of his rope. Whatever he'd been drugged with was taking over fully and it was all Hawke could do just then to close his eyes and not open them when he heard his name called from those lips he'd been watching without realizing it.

"Garret!"


	2. Spilled

Carver sent for the only person he could trust to help get Hawke home. The dwarf got there surprisingly fast and burst into the room, a pirate right behind him.

"Junior! What did you do to Hawke?" He stopped when he looked down at the two of them and and the unconscious Templar. Isabela seemed impressed and Varric seemed suddenly rightfully cautious.

"What makes you think I would- no. It doesn't matter, I think he's been poisoned and he's been tortured and he won't wake up and for fucks sake he's covered in filth! We need to get him to a healer." Varric kneeled down beside him, examining what he could see of Hawke in his arms.

"Right… Let's bring him to his estate. Isabela would you drag Blondie by. Tell him Hawke's got himself attacked by a Templar and I'm sure he'll be racing to Hightown faster than even you." She nodded and took off fast, giving Carver a half- sympathetic- half- assurance look. 

"How are we going to get him to the estate like this? The streets are full of thugs at this hour!" Varric helped him up, supporting half of Hawke's weight before Carver pulled him over his shoulders.

"I know some back ways we can take to get there faster and safely. If we get jumped Bianca can handle a fight. Let's hurry, though, he doesn't look too good."

* * *

Anders had been feeling quite anxious in his clinic all night, warned by Justice that something was wrong. Isabela bursting in was hardly a surprise but it still startled him upright.

"Hawke was attacked by a Templar," she rushed out as soon as she was close enough. 

"What?!" Before she could even begin explaining I was grabbing my staff and pulling potions from the wall. She helped me, clearly in a hurry.

"I can't say for sure what all is wrong but he might be poisoned and he most certainly was bleeding all over the blooming rose." Justice was burning hot in my veins but I did my best to keep my cool.

"Where is he?" Isabela had an arm full of things Anders had shoved at her.

"They're taking him to his estate."

Orana was waiting for them at the door, wringing her hands anxiously. She relaxed when she saw them come in, glad they'd made it so quickly.

"Master Hawke is upstairs already," she said, clearly trying to remain polite but obviously wanting them to hurry. Isabela ran ahead, but Anders knew the way as well and was fast behind her. When they burst through the door Varric straightened off the wall and someone stood from the bed. Someone in templar armor. 

"You," Anders growled, stepping towards him. Varric blocked the way.

"Right idea, wrong templar, blondie. Carver didn't do this." Anders huffed and ignored them all, going to Hawke's side. He was laying face down on the bed with a thin sheet over his bottom half but his back exposed. Angry red marks still bleeding littered his body and Anders had to steady himself. He knew what he'd see if he looked under those sheets.

"I'll need someone to stay and help me," Anders started, holding a hand up as Carver stepped forward. "Not you. Trust me when I say Hawke would not want his brother seeing him like this."

"I'll stay and help," Varric offered at the same time Isabela began to volunteer. 

"Both of you can, for all I care. Just get _ him _out?" Anders had already started pouring healing potions over the poultices he'd prepared and was beginning to gently press them down over the torn skin of Hawke's back. His mind tried to supply images of a night they shared just a year ago in this room but he blocked it out, reminding himself that he was here as a healer, not a lover. Never a lover again.

Carver stormed out as he lifted the sheet off Hawke's body and Varric averted his eyes. Anders had been correct in his thinking but it still hurt to see it. 

"How many?" He asked, once more feeling unstable but continuing to apply healing salve and poultices to stop the bleeding while he made sure Garret wouldn't bleed out.

"One templar and a shitload of flogging," Isabela offered, and Anders wished he was as composed as her.

"And how far did the rape go?" Both of them snapped their attention to him and Anders hoped they were merely shocked at the word and not that it applied to Hawke's condition. After all, you could see the way the welts and bloody skin circled his hips and inner thighs.

"We got there after, Carver would know more," Varric said, copying what he saw Anders do with the potions and following his lead.

"Keep doing this until the bleeding stops, I'll need to prepare something to flush out the poison." They did as they were told for once, careful when they reached the harsher marks on his thighs. He briefly looked over Garret's face and sighed at the almost peaceful look of him before turning to his bag and dragging out everything he brought. 

Magic would of course do most of the work but he had brought base ingredients to make a stronger health potion as well. He couldn't afford to water anything down so he used a lesser potion as a base and went from there.

"Blondie he's looking real pale over here," Varric called from behind him and Anders shut his eyes tight for a second to concentrate. The deep red potion in his hands glowed vibrantly before turning blue. He turned back to them and ran to Hawke's side. 

"Help me move him to his back," he told them, carefully shifting Garret's shoulder. They'd move him back after Anders got the potion in him.

"How are you going to get him to drink it if he's not even awake," Isabela asked. They both winced as Anders took Hawke's jaw and uncorked the bottle, dumping it slowly into Hawke's mouth. It leaked out and Anders cursed loudly before lifting it to his own lips and leaning down over Hawke. He passed it through to him and did his best to massage it down while keeping Hawke's lips sealed. Just as he was sure it'd gone down he heard a gasp at the door. He sat up and wiped his mouth, looking up.

Carver had returned and in his eyes was a fire Anders knew all too well.

"Don't touch him like that." Varric, sensing the animosity moved between them once more. Anders didn't care about them and repeated his earlier action, taking more of the potion this time and bringing Hawke up to force it down his throat.

"I promise it's not as dirty as it looks, Junior, he's just doing what any of us would to help Hawke," he heard Varric say while he was trying to save Hawke's life. When he pulled back and looked at Garret, Anders shuddered. The man he walked out on in favor of spirits and revolution and being alone with a sea of problems. He didn't look as peaceful as Anders had thought before.

"I've done all I can for now. Help me move him back over." Isabela was able to do it mostly on her own and when he was back on his stomach Anders pulled the sheet over him as before, leaving as much as his back exposed as he could while keeping him modestly covered.

When he stood and stepped back it left Carver with a view of the bloody and bandaged back. Anders was certain everyone noticed the sickly look on Carver's face before he could school it, but no one mentioned it. They probably all looked the same.

"Where is the Templar who did this," Anders asked, letting the anger he pushed down surface back up. Another mage used by a templar. One as important and untouchable as Hawke.

"I've taken care of it," Carver said, walking past Varric who shot a look to Isabela. Carver wasn't yelling or stomping. That's new.

"Oh I'm sure. What did you do, slap him on the wrist and send him home? Or maybe you thanked him for giving you the chance to look down on Hawke." Anders expected Carver to come after him for that. For insinuating that this brought him any happiness when it was obvious it didn't. He expected shouting and punches and maybe even threats to be dragged to the gallows. He got none of it.

Carver simply kept walking until he reached Hawke's side.

"He's dead. Everyone at the Blooming Rose has been paid off so this doesn't come back to him." All three of them were speechless at that. Carver killed a Templar? For Hawke?

"Uh, Junior aren't there rules against-"

"To the fade with the rules! He hurt my brother, I wasn't going to let him walk free!" Isabela, if possible, looked moved.

"Our boys all grown up, Varric! Look how much he's grown," she cooed. Carver shot her a warning glare but she simply threw an arm over him. "Soon he'll be breaking all the rules. What's next, thieving? Crime of passion? Maybe you'll go after this one for breaking your brother's heart." As if she hadn't done the same, and right after sleeping with him. Anders felt Carver turn a cold stare his way.

"You two?" The way he asked made it sound as if he were disappointed and Anders took personal offense to that.

"It's over. It has been for some time." Isabela snorted at that and Anders tried to remain somewhat dignified. Three months _was _a long time in this city.

"Not to butt in to your serious conversation but does anyone know when Hawke will be waking up? Or if he'll even be alright?" Varric was always the voice of reason it seems. 

"If we're lucky, he'll sleep until these are scars. He's going to live, though, if that's what you're asking." That apparently had been what he was asking as he ran a tired hand over his face and nodded. Hawke just had that kind of effect on you.

* * *

Varric left before any of them, claiming he wanted to get some extra eyes out to be sure no templars started asking around the Blooming Rose. Isabela watching him go and then Anders, knowing they'd both be back by tomorrow morning. She started to leave as well but went back upstairs to see if Carver would need help looking after Hawke. Rather than making it through the door she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes going wide in shock.

Through the foot or so of open door she watched as Carver plucked up Anders "supreme potion" or whatever he decided to call it, threw it back, and was pressing it into Hawke's mouth as Anders had done, holding his face so gently she wondered if he suddenly thought his brother was made of glass.

She could picture Hawke reciprocating, leaning up to meet Carver's advances with nothing but eager want. Hawke was gentle in bed, Isabela remembered, but eager all the same. Carver would probably be inexperienced and jump him fast, while Hawke gasped and whined in pleasure under him.

She knew what she was seeing was most likely just to make him heal faster and Carver didn't even think of it how she did but a kiss was a kiss and seeing it made her certain how she wanted to spend her evening. She left wondering if the Blooming Rose still had those lovely twins.

* * *

It was harder than it seemed getting Garret to swallow the potion, even doing what he'd watched the abomination do to him. Was there more to it than a kiss? Did he have to use his tongue? He started to push it in before abruptly falling back, realizing just who he was slipping his tongue to. Maker, if Garret knew...

The remnants of the potion dribbled out of the corner of his brother's mouth and to keep him from choking Carver unthinkingly kissed him again, tilting his chin to try and slide it down his throat and bringing his other hand up to gently support his head. 

When he finally got it, he smiled a little and settled Hawke back on his stomach, accepting the small victory. If he could keep that up maybe he'd be able to squash the guilt of walking out on his brother. His eyes trailed down Garret's back and the smile faded. A very small victory, he reminded himself. It'd take hundreds like it to even begin to make up for his asinine personality. 

He laid down on the floor just beside his brother's bed and shut his eyes, hands absentmindedly coming up to his lips as he let his tongue run over the almost sweet nectary taste of the potion. Or maybe that was the taste of Hawke's lips. Sweet and almost cool in his state. Had he just kissed his brother? 

The thought perhaps did not sicken him as much as it should, and he found himself wanting to warm those cold lips with his own. He refrained.


	3. Splashed

Hawke hadn't woken up by the time morning rolled around and by the way the marks on his body looked Carver figured it was for the best. Even with Anders' methods of stopping the bleeding it seemed the blankets and pillows on Garret's bed would have to be thrown out and replaced.

Varric and Isabela had returned and Fenris was tagging along as well it seemed, all three of them anxious to see Hawke and hoping he was awake. Anders had started removing the bandages before he threw a worried look Carver's way. 

"I'm not leaving you alone with him after what I saw yesterday," Carver said bitterly, but averted his eyes anyway. Why the mage was so concerned over keeping Hawke's skin hidden, Carver couldn't be sure.

"Oh please, Hawke is safe with me. I would never hurt him." Maybe not with the intention of causing pain, Carver thought, but Anders seemed the type to not look further than his own hurt when thinking. Him and his damn mages.

"Just hurry up and heal him." Anders looked over the bloody skin cautiously, not giving him any reply until he settled his poultices back down.

"I can't. I would have yesterday if I could. That templar drained his mana yesterday and it still hasn't returned in full. If I use my magic on him now it'll do little more than fill his depleted aura." Mage talk, Carver thought with a grimace. Even in the circle it doesn't irk him so.

"When will his magic return?" Anders was in the process of pulling his bag around to dig in it and didn't even look up to answer.

"Soon." He pulled a familiar bottle out and Carver tensed.

"You aren't going to give that to him as you did yesterday, are you?" Anders sloshed the lyrium potion around, gauging just how much was left.

"There isn't exactly an alternative. He almost choked on it when I poured it into his mouth." Carver snatched the bottle out of his hands and uncorked it with his teeth.

"Then I'll do it," he argued, not at all surprised to see the shock on Anders' face. If it wasn't an intimate gesture then why was the thought of Carver doing it so scandalizing, he wanted to shout.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Of course it wasn't, but if Carver had to watch someone tonguing his brother one more time he'd vomit. He hated that they all seemed to know Hawke so personally.

"Then find a different way," Carver snapped, a spike of jealousy shooting through him. "Because I don't like how keen you are to put your hands on my brother."

"I can be of assistance here, I believe." They both looked up at Fenris in the doorway, lyrium tattoos glowing. "Lyrium _ is _the root of all my problems, after all."

"Of course, come over here." Carver noticed the twitch in Fenris' eyebrow at being bossed around but the elf did as he was asked, walking to Hawke's side. 

"My powers are stronger than any lyrium potion you could ever make. I suggest standing back." With a small snort Carver gave him space and resisted smiling at the annoyance coming off Anders. The smile faded as he watched Fenris gently take Hawke's hand and run his thumb over it. A small but intimate gesture, and one that sent Carver reeling. How many of Garret's friends were in love with him? 

Fenris didn't speak as he clasped Garret's hand tighter and pumped his lyrium through their connection. Garret, very briefly, glowed blue with Fenris.

"That should be enough," Anders said quickly, urging Fenris to stop even though the elf seemed reluctant. "We don't want to overwhelm him."

* * *

Fenris and Anders suggested that all of them go downstairs for a bit after the display, and Carver agreed easily. His brother would be fine for just a few minutes on his own and Carver needed a break from seeing him unconscious.

"How is he," Aveline asked when they got downstairs. It seemed every own of Hawke's friends decided to drop by. 

"He's healing," Anders told her, sitting at the table they had moved to the mostly empty room.

"That's good, then," Merril said happily. No one else seemed too happy. Varric, in fact, looked haunted. Had he seen the marks, then? The skin ripped to shreds between Garret's thighs?

"Carver, Varric told us you had a hand in saving him? Thank you." He shot Aveline a glare, hating that tone in her voice. They all thought he wanted to see Garret fall but they were wrong. 

"He's my brother. The whole reason I have people looking after him is because I don't want to see him hurt." She nodded, backing off. Carver hadn't meant to snap, but he was never calm when his brother wasn't around.

"Is that how you knew he was in trouble? Junior, does Hawke know you've been spying on him," Varric asked in good humor. Even though it was just a joke, mostly, Carver grew flushed.

"It paid off, didn't it? He doesn't need to know." They all got a good laugh at him and Carver wished he had his brother's ability to laugh things off as well. In truth, when the girl he'd hired at the Blooming Rose found him on patrol and told him his brother was in danger and alone Carver had felt like he was going to pass out. 

"Whatever you say. So Blondie, when should we expect Hawke to wake up?" Anders looked up from his bag that he'd been digging through once more.

"I can't say for sure. With his mana repleted I can heal him properly, but the potion needs time to work through his system." Because of the poison, Carver thought grimly. 

"Right, the potion," Isabela said knowingly, giving Anders and Carver a sly grin. 

"Yes. It's already taken effect so it won't be long now." Isabela nodded and her eyes turned back on Carver, something in them accusing. Carver felt his guts twisting and his skin turned cold under that stare. She knew what he'd done. Anders didn't notice and continued, "in fact, in the morning I'll set to work on his injuries I think. By then he should be stronger."

"Good. I'm going back upstairs if that's all you wanted to say. You're all welcome to stay but don't bother Orana and leave the kitchen alone." He marched up the stairs feeling more scared than in his whole life. Isabela must have seen him kissing Garret. Or maybe she was just able to sense the shame on him. It didn't matter, Carver knew she wouldn't tell anyone before speaking with him.

* * *

She followed him up, watching as he sat down on the bed beside Garret. Carver knew she had an evil smile on her face without looking 

"So, does he know?" No dancing around it, no pretending she's here for something else. Isabela was straight to the point for once.

"There's nothing for him to know," Carver said, deciding to go the hard route.

"No? I think he'd be interested to know what you do when he's asleep." She was teasing him.

"Stop. You don't know anything." But she did. She knew everything and it hurt him to think she'd tell Garret the second she could.

"Oh please. I was here last night when you kissed him." At his small wince she seemed to relax a bit. "It's alright, Carver, I won't tell anyone."

"What then? Just use it against me? Mock me with it next you see fit?" Isabela rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorway.

"I think it's hot, actually. I couldn't give two fucks about the rest of it." Carver was surprised at that, his shoulders relaxing a bit.

"But he's my brother! Shouldn't I be ashamed?" There was a wicked laugh and she came further into the room. 

"Honestly, Carver, when have the two of you ever been brotherly? Was it before Kirkwall, because as I remember it you quite loathed him when we first met?" Loathed? Not quite. Sure his brother was something he always found to be a bit of a mystery. The man would laugh in the face of danger but always take the safest route when it was anyone but himself on the line, and his bravery was matched only by his innocence in regards to helping others. Sometimes he'd joke when Carver knew he was hurting terribly, and then immediately act like he was fine when prompted on it. He made Carver furious, jealous, terrified at times when he rushed into things, but Carver never hated him. 

"He would never see past the shame of it all if he knew," Carver settled on. Because at the root of it all, shame was the only thing holding him back from repeating last night's kiss.

"Shame? We must be talking about a different Hawke. I once watched this man proposition a woman right here in hightown, get distracted by a pretty dumb man, and flaunt him to the same woman not two minutes later. The man's shameless." Carver resisted the urge to chuckle at that. His brother was good at driving people mad, that he knew first hand.

"This is different, Isabela. The things I want to do to him would do nothing but frighten him away, I'm sure of it. They'd disgust him and as well they should." And if not, he'd be angry. Angry that Carver kissed him, angry that after years of trying to win Carver over with jokes and playful brotherly love, this is where they'd ended up. With Carver imagining Garret bare against those dark blue sheets.

"Oh shut it. Garret's not capable of hate and you know it." That brought up Carver's next fear. That Garret would, in his need to prove to Carver that he wasn't trying to undermine him, simply submit. Garret Hawke, the unrelenting force, the powerful mage who everyone knew, the Champion of Kirkwall, would sooner let Carver do whatever he wanted than lose him. It'd be so much worse than disgust and hate. Carver didn't want to break his brother with all his issues.

"It's not something up for debate, Isabela. Leave it alone." At the very least, she seemed to pity him as she left. Carver didn't want that pity, though. He wanted someone to tell him what he was feeling in that moment, as he looked down at his older brother with a growing need, was wrong. Pity made him pathetic, something to look down on and feel sorry for, when people should be dragging him out of this room and throwing him out.


	4. Struck

It was with a pained gasp that Hawke woke up in his own bed with his robes on and little else. His muscles were tense and as he tried rolling over pain exploded across his side and back, earning another sharp breath.

"Garret?" He turned his head, hands clenched around his blanket as he worked through the pain, to see his brother sitting up off the floor.

"Carver." Taking a shaky breath, Hawke released the blanket and settled back completely onto his stomach. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" He carefully reached around and felt along his side. Anders' healing potions seemed to be soaked into the bandages that were wrapped all over his body under his robes. They were soothing, somewhat, but he still ached. 

"I remember the Blooming Rose and drinking with the templar I was meeting. He knew I was an apostate... and I figured if I just followed along everyone would be happy. I think he had someone slip me something." Carver noticed him trying to sit up and carefully slid his hands under him to help. "I remember you striking him."

"And everything in between?" Hawke offered a halfhearted shrug that really only proved his own unwillingness to answer people honestly. In his own way he had told Carver everything though. 

"What are you doing here, still? How long have I been asleep?" Carver still had his hands on Hawke's shoulders where they settled him upright and held him steady, and he didn't seem to plan on moving them.

"Two nights have passed. Anders is coming soon to heal you, he just had to wait until the poison had been flushed out." Hawke attempted to slide his legs down to the floor but his brother stopped him, shaking his head.

"Stay in bed. You are in no shape to be up and walking right now, or standing." One of Carver's hands slipped down to tug Hawke's robes up where it'd slipped down, a small action that didn't help with the mess of his thoughts. "You shouldn't even be sitting up, actually." Hawke would have argued against that if not for his confusion. Why was his tit of a brother here, taking care of him and being kind?

"What happened to you," he asked, worried that maybe they'd managed to lose someone else and Carver was merely setting him up for grief. But who, it was just the two of them left.

"Nothing. You're the one who's hurt." Hawke glanced him over, not believing for a second that this was real.

"Carver, I mean why are you here? You made it quite clear last time we spoke that I was to keep away from you and you were making your own life. I would think you'd be the one who'd have no trouble sticking to that." A small hint of pain crossed his face and suddenly Hawke new it must be bad. "Well, shit. I'm dying then, aren't I?"

"What? Maker no, not while I'm around to save your sorry ass!" Hawke nodded, taking a slow breath. 

"And you…" Carver shut his eyes, irritation ever present on his face.

"No one is dying Hawke. I rescued you from a Templar who was beating and using you, and quite literally thought you had died in my arms. I'm allowed to stick around and be worried." Confusion settled into aggravation at that. Wasn't it he who turned away from Hawke?

"Worried? About me? Now that doesn't sound like you, Carver. In any case I'm fine and you don't have to stick around on my account. Surely you've got more important things to do with your _ order _." That one clearly stung.

"I don't. Nothing more than this. I'm… Sorry, Garret. I ran away from you all those years ago and I know your pissed at me for it." Pissed? Hawke wasn't pissed, he was hurt! He was upset and in pain and overwhelmed with a whole lot of bullshit that had been building for too long.

"You left, Carver! You knew you were all I had, and you left! And then mother- mother left too and you didn't even come back for that," Hawke tried to sound angry, he _ was _ angry, but halfway through his voice broke and exposed how raw he still was over it all. A nerve in need of healing but left open to be poked and abused. Hawke tensed as pain erupted in his thigh. Looking down he realized he must of torn something trying to heal itself as there was blood seeping through his patches.

"I'm sorry, brother! I really am, but I was hurting, too, and unlike you I didn't have darkspawn to kill in my grief." Hawke didn't want to do this, but after years of silence, it was time they both said what needed to be said.

"I don't blame you for for finding your place, Carver. You can have your templars for all I care but you of all people should know that you can't be here with me and be a part of that world." He couldn't have us both, Hawke thought bitterly. 

"Garret, I came upon one of my own _ raping _my brother! Do you honestly think the Order is what I want to be apart of right now?" All of a sudden there was a hand pushing him down and Hawke grabbed it, wincing at the effort to stay up. He wasn't going to let Carver leave at that.

"You've known all your life that templars abuse mages! Just because you saw it first hand now it upsets you?" He pushed Carver away, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. 

"Garret?" It passed, slowly, but left him feeling empty. "Brother, are you alright?" 

"You didn't answer my question," Hawke managed to say through clenched teeth. "What happened to you? You've never given two shits about what happens to me, what changed?"

"I've never wanted to see you hurt, Garret! We fought, we argued, we even resented each other at times, but I never hated you! Can't you see that? Can't you see that everything I do is because I want to keep you safe?" Hawke grimaced at that. Carver, keeping _ him _ safe? 

"Well you have a funny way of showing it, making a home with people who do things like this!" As if sensing things had snapped, they both stopped. Hawke grew quiet, regretting that last part. "You aren't like them, I'm sorry."

"You've every right to be angry." If he had his usual strength, Hawke would have told him to shove it with all this sentiment. Instead he took a shaky breath, nodded, and reached for the bed to push himself up. "What are you doing, stop!"

"I have one last thing to say to you and I'm not going to say it sitting on my arse," Hawke snapped, grabbing the arm that appeared in front of him to knock him down. Glaring at him, his brother sighed and held his hand out. With Carver's help he was able to stand on wobbly legs, feeling suddenly very small before his warrior brother.

"Make it quick, you're in no condition to be out of bed." Hawke righted himself, stood straight despite the pain flooding his senses, and smiled.

"Welcome home," he whispered before wrapping his arms around Carver. His brother immediately went to support his weight, stumbling back under the sudden attack.

"Really? You had to say that right this instant?" He felt Carver chuckling, though, as he tried lowering Hawke back into bed. Hawke held him tighter, afraid that if he let go Carver would leave. 

"If I waited any longer it would be pointless to say it." And Hawke really wanted to say it. 

"Come on, back to bed with you, Garret. You look pale." Carver managed to get him sitting, at least, and without warning knocked him onto his side. 

"Fuck, Carver! Careful," he snapped, glaring as his little brother rolled him onto his stomach. Despite the look he shot at him, Hawke did feel better like this.

"You've started bleeding again, idiot. Be still," Carver commanded, grabbing his robes and bunching them up, exposing a lot of Hawke in the process. A whole lot.

"Carver, it's fine," he said with a gasp, realizing that his brother had a clear view of things he probably shouldn't. The thought made his cheeks flush. 

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, Garret. Just stop twitching and let me replace these bandages." His hands were warm on Hawke's thighs, pressing gently down on a fresh cloth, earning a small noise from Hawke's throat. "I'm sorry, does it hurt?" 

"What, these little scrapes? I'm fine, Carver, just a little sore." Another soft bandage was wrapped around his thigh and Hawke bit back as pain threatened to make a liar of him.

"I don't know if that's sarcasm or a joke, but I know you're in pain, Garret. I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner." Carver's hands had stopped and were resting dangerously close to his inner thighs, making Hawke very nervous. It seemed they were inching higher with each passing second. Just as he was about to say something though, they disappeared, leaving him with a mess of conflicting feelings. "Those should hold until your abomination gets here, at least."

"He has a name, you know." 

* * *

"He has a name you know," Hawke said quietly, not at all commenting on how Carver had almost crossed the line and let his hands slip up to cup his round arse. Maybe he hadn't noticed, or maybe he simply thought Carver was finishing up his bandages. Either way, Carver wouldn't get the feel of his brother's legs twitching under his hands out of his head any time soon.

"He also has a spirit inside of him," Carver snapped needlessly harsh. Garret didn't reply and only turned his head to look away from Carver. "Sorry. Isabela told me that you and he… were together."

"We aren't. Not any more." That was likely all he'd get on the subject, so Carver nodded like some small child agreeing to something they didn't understand before looking down and realizing he hadn't righted his brother's robes. They were pulled up to just below his arse, allowing Carver a small glimpse of his brother's cock between his legs. 

Something in him stirred and Carver went pale. He knew he should look away but he couldn't find the will to do so. If he reached out and lifted it a little higher he'd also see the red lines of welts and gashes, he told himself angrily. He tugged the robes down and turned away, wishing very much that he hadn't just become aroused at the sight of his brother half nude.

"Are you hungry? I met Orana already, I can go find her and help make breakfast." Was it as obvious to Hawke as it was to himself that he was trying to run away.

"I'm not hungry. Probably wouldn't keep anything down right now anyway." Carver glanced down, noting that the tenting of his trousers was quite obvious. 

"Well, I'll go get you some water, at least." He turned away and made it a few steps before stopping. He glanced back at his brother, realizing he'd turned his head back to face Carver.

"Are you angry?" If he turned around now, Garret would see. He'd see and know that while touching him Carver had been thinking of doing more. Carver couldn't let that happen, so he spoke over his shoulder.

"I'm not angry, brother. I'll be right back, I swear. With that he left, shame rolling off of him so deeply be wondering if demons would swarm him if he held magic like his siblings. Sibling, he reminded himself bitterly as he hid in the washroom. One sibling that he was still thinking about as he fished himself out of his templar robes and small clothes. 

The way he pumped himself was angry and hard, seeking release fast. His thoughts were a mess of the eldest Hawke brother, imagining what it'd be like if Carver _ had _reached further up those legs, under the safety of Garret's robes. Of course he wouldn't, even if Garret wasn't horribly injured, but that didn't stop him from wanting it. Wanting to hear Garret moan in pleasure and call out Carver's name, wanting to push his cock between those thighs he'd felt up. He wanted it so bad he could almost picture it. When he came he let a hushed curse, grateful that his mind was blissfully empty for a few short seconds before the shame returned tenfold.

Carver had made a mess of things, it seemed. Both literally and in regards to his brother. By the time he was clean and back upstairs with water, Hawke had fallen asleep again. Carver leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips before sitting on the floor and waiting for Anders to come.


	5. Sparked

Garret was dreaming. Some people may think it odd for anyone to just know they were in a dream, but mages had to know. Years of training to recognise reality came in handy in that regard. Though, Hawke knew this was all his mind's doing for a different reason, one that left him feeling cold and empty and warm and sated all at the same time.

He was in his room and standing in his doorway was Carver, templar armor gone and an unspoken request between them. One look at him and his brother crossed the room and pushed him down on the bed.

Carver was atop him, then, hands tearing his clothes apart and pulling them off him to fling away. Hawke was motionless and let it happen, shock taking over while his clothes came off alarmingly fast. By the time he'd recovered, he wasn't sure he wanted it to stop.

Whatever brought this fantasy to him, Hawke both cursed and thanked as he watched his brother lean over him with all the muscle tension of a lion about to pounce on its prey. He could feel those muscles, flexing and twitching while Carver lowered himself carefully so as not to crush Hawke. It stirred him up even more than the nights he'd spent under Anders had. Maybe because where Anders was sure and took risks, Carver was careful and took it slow.

Even in this dream world Hawke was unsure what to do like this. He didn't mean to be passive, and maybe if this was a dream of Fenris or even, Maker forbid, Anders then he'd know how to enjoy it.

"It's just a dream," he whispered, reaching up and touching Carver carefully.

"Shut up," he growled, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips and Hawke nearly died of shock at how real it felt and how well his subconscious had Carver pegged down.

"What are you doing to me?" What was Hawke doing to him, he should have asked instead. Even if it was Carver bearing down on him, and Carver caressing him, Hawke was the one dreaming it. He should push him off, wake himself up somehow, but some part of him told him that it was fine. This was just a dream. He wasn't touching the _ real _ Carver, just his own projection of the man.

"Don't look so put off," Carver whispered against him, voice far less annoying than usual as he added, "or are you just enjoying it so much you can't speak?" It sent shivers down Garret's spine and made his toes curl in anticipation. Carver's breath was warm on his skin. Warm and welcome.

"Just a dream," he repeated to assure himself. He gasped as teeth sank into his neck, fear replacing the lust that had started to grow inside him. "No, no, no, no."

"Sorry," the too real Carver whispered, planting a kiss over the sore mark. Would the real Carver be that gentle, Hawke wondered. He felt another kiss near the same spot, and sighed as Carver left a trail of them to his chest. 

"Oh! Carver," he gasped, fingers twisting in dark hair as his brother sucked at one of his nipples, all thoughts suddenly fleeting. "Oh fuck, Carver! How can you be so good at that?" 

"That's what I like to hear," Carver practically purred as he pulled away and slowly trailed lower, sounding extremely satisfied and setting off warning bells in Hawke's head. Around Hawke, Carver never let it slip that he was experienced- Hawke knew he'd been with people of course, he just wasn't sure how many- so why would dream Carver be any different? 

One of Carver's hands found his and grasped it tightly into the bed while he continued to lay gentle kisses into Hawke's body. When he returned to eye level, Carver brought their entwined hands up and set them beside Hawke's face, as if wanting to see him laid out. One of his knees parted Hawke's thighs and slid between them. 

"Oh," he gasped, and Carver took that as an opportunity to kiss him deeply, knee pressed down just a bit harder. _ You like this _ , his mind screamed at him. _ This is your little brother who's kissing you and touching you and making you feel alive for the first time in months and you don't want it to stop _ ! But _ Maker _ when he's being so gentle how could anyone want it to stop, he reasoned. "Just a dream."

"For a dream you sure seem like the real thing." Hawke stilled completely under him at that, thoughts clicking together finally. Carver didn't even seem to notice and continued above him.

"What did you say?" Hawke looked more closely at Carver, at the way he was drinking in every detail of Hawke's body and moving with almost the same hesitancy and dreamlike haze that Hawke had when this started, and he froze. As hands started slipping into the last bit of cover he had, his undergarments, Hawke paled. If this was the real Carver, his Carver, then he probably thought this was all a dream of his own, too. "Carver! Carver stop, this isn't a normal dream it's the fade! Carver, it's me!" 

"What?" They made eye contact and Hawke's cheeks burned bright red. They were speaking in the fade. More than speaking, Carver was hard and pressing down on Hawke as if he were about to- the two of them were silent for all of about two seconds before exploding into action.

"Up, get off," Hawke cried out, trying to push Carver off. He didn't have to try hard as Carver was already rolling off him and cursing up a storm, trying to right his clothes and hide his obvious erection.

"What were you doing in my head," he demanded, turning on Hawke and grabbing him roughly by the shoulders.

"I didn't know! It was an accident," Hawke hissed back, looking around. They were certainly in Hawke's room, on his bed, but it wasn't as familiar as his actual bedroom. The blankets under him were different, for one. A darker blue than usual and silkier. Hawke drew them around his shoulders and sat up, trying to ignore how seductive they looked. He also didn't dwell on how Carver likely did that on purpose as this was his projection of Hawke's room.

"And you were just going to lay there and take it? Andraste's tits, Garret!" Hawke shivered, suddenly feeling very ashamed. Carver wasn't as experienced in fade situations and he probably didn't even realize who it was he was about to be pounding into the sheets! Hawke knew, though, and he did nothing. Suddenly, he felt very ill. "Will you put something on?! Anything!" 

"You tore my clothes off," Hawke said weakly, trying to pull the blankets further around him. His bare stomach was covered, as well as his thighs and midsection, but his legs and chest were exposed still. Carver glanced his way and quickly looked away, wrinkling his nose. The gesture tore at Hawke more than it should. In fact, it seemed to open a gate inside of him that should be kept closed. A bitter and sad sound ripped out of Hawke, making his brother jump and Hawke's head lower.

"Are you crying?" Sure enough, one little gesture and Hawke's emotional side finally overpowered him after years of being beaten back. He desperately tried to stop the tears, angrily smearing them across his face with the back of his hand. Carver stood, unsure, a few feet away from him and tried to look away. It only made a new sob tear through his throat. "Please don't do that. Don't cry."

"I'm not- just go!" Hawke flinched when an arm came around him, a strong arm that smelled like nighttime and home and things Hawke shouldn't want but did; oh, how he did. Another sob tour out of him and this time there was no stopping it even if he tried. Carver was comforting him. Comforting his shameful big brother who had almost let things go too far. He didn't feel like a big brother. He didn't feel big at all, under Carver's powerful hold. Hawke felt small and weak. He still felt the echo of his earlier arousal and even as it disappeared he knew he wouldn't forget it.

"Garret, I beg of you, don't cry. Come on brother, you aren't supposed to cry." Because a Hawke is supposed to always remain composed. Hawkes don't cry or scream or show such weakness, and they certainly don't let others shoulder the burden.

"Just wake up," Hawke said roughly, voice barely above a whisper as his throat felt tight. A second later and Carver was gone, the feel of his touch fading fast. Hawke fell into the bed and let the cold have him. 

* * *

Carver woke up with a start, sitting upright on the floor and looking around. Garret was in bed, asleep on his stomach still, and Anders was standing over him with Varric. Was any of what just happened real or had he dreamed it up.

"I see you're awake, finally. I'm healing Hawke right now." Varric helped him up and offered him a worried glance, no doubt because Carver slept on the floor for the soul purpose of waking up if anyong entered the room and defending Garret. His cheeks flushed a little as he realized he'd been too busy trying to shove his hands down his brother's pants to wake up. 

"You alright, Junior?" Carver was not alright. He wanted to shut his eyes and will himself back to the dreamworld and yell at his idiot brother for banishing him.

"I'm fine. How is he," Carver asked with a small nod towards his sleeping brother. Anders stood straight, hands leaving Garret's arm.

"Not great," he started, moving to hold Garret's head carefully. "His energy hasn't improved as well as I'd hoped and it looks like some of the worst wounds opened in his sleep."

"Then what are you waiting for, heal him." Anders sighed and let go of Garret's face. 

"I am! Andraste's sweet bosom you and he are both so impatient." The mage hovered his hands over Garret's back and took a short breath. Carver watched, only slightly mesmerized. Their lifestyle demanded his brother's magic be mostly offensive, as Bethany's had been before she… left them. He didn't see healing magic often as a Templar and it was refreshing to see it being used for something other than fighting. 

More refreshing was seeing the markings Anders had exposed as he removed the bandages start to heal over. The center of his back and his inner thighs would remain scarred, it seemed, but they were no longer bleeding, no longer a danger to the man's life. Garret jerked a bit, surprising Carver.

"Wha…" The flow of magic stopped and Anders smiled down at Garret with a look Carver hated. Adoration.

"Can you help me move him over now, Varric?" Carver stepped in, glowering at the mage as he gently rolled his brother onto his back on his own. "Show off."

"Boys, behave. Hawke's coming to," Varric told them, and sure enough he was. Carver suddenly found himself stepping back though. If it wasn't just a dream, if Garret awoke remembering what Carver did to him, he'd be thrown out. He wasn't ready to lose his spot at his brother's side.

"Varric? Maker, I've got the worst headache." Anders threw himself at Garret and Carver had to restrain himself from ripping the abomination off him.

"Hawke, what were you thinking?! Going to meet a templar on your own," Anders shuddered and leaned down, as if to kiss Garret, but didn't get the chance to. Carver pulled him back, glaring at the mage.

"Carver? You're still here? I thought after…" They all went silent, even Anders who pulled out of Carver's grasp with a huff.

"I'm not going anywhere." Varric was looking between the two of them as though trying to read something he'd missed. If Carver was lucky, he wouldn't be able to. 

"I- agh!" Garret doubled over clutching his stomach, and Carver reached out in panic.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" If Carver's hands on him were unwelcome, he didn't say so. Slowly, he unfurled himself and shook his head.

"He's probably starving. Blondie, let's go help Orana whip something up." Anders started to protest but Varric said something to him quietly and the mage relented, giving Garret one last longing glance before the two left.

"Brother, I-"

"I'm sorry. For trespassing in your dreams." Carver let out a shaky breath, nodding. So it had all really happened. He helped Garret sit up, unsure of where he could even start.

"You don't have to be sorry. Garret, I don't want you to be sorry for something I did. Brother, if I'd known it was really you-" Carver didn't really know how to continue that. If he'd known it was really him, he would probably have been less inclined to tear off Hawke's clothes. Or at least, he would have hidden the desire. "Garret, I really am sorry."

"You don't have to be." At first Carver expected some follow up to that, some reason that his brother would offer him to explain it all away. Instead he was hit with the hard knowledge that Garret was offering him an out. A bloody out!

"You really were just going to lay there and take it," Carver accused, hating that he had to choose now to start picking a fight but feeling so raw from having what may be the darkest pit of his soul exposed that he had to say something. He had feared his brother would do just that, and he was right.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do! I thought it was just my own twisted head warping the last sense of family I had left!" Carver _really _felt he'd been struck at that. Before he could really say anything, though, Garret spoke again in a hushed voice, "And I didn't even have the decency to hate it." 

"What?" Refusing to answer, his brother turned away from him and made as if to fall back into bed. Carver grabbed his arm. "You can't leave it at that. Not after I tell you it was my dream, and you tell me it was yours, and neither of us hated it." They were silent for a moment and Carver realized Garret was shutting him out again. Going back to what he knew. "Stop thinking so hard!"

"I can't help it!" Carver sank down to his knees, holding Garret's hand to tightly he worried he'd hurt him.

"Father told us we should never bow to anyone. He wanted us strong and resilient. At no one's mercy. I know you think you're invincible, and powerful, and strong, brother, and that you have to live up to some legend, but you don't. You can do whatever you want, Garret!" The hand he held tightened suddenly and Carver looked up. Garret was trying to pull away from him, fresh tears in his eyes just like in the fade, but Carver held fast. "I won't pretend that nothing happened. I'm not strong enough to."

"Carver, don't! If anyone heard you-"

"I don't care. I know I should, I probably did not even a day ago, but I almost lost you and I've done nothing but regret since. No more. Accept me as I am, brother, or send me away, but if I stay know that I won't pretend that I don't want you." And he said it. Garret's entire body tensed up as if waiting to be struck by some force, but nothing happened. He relaxed, looked up at Carver, and nodded.

"Stay."


	6. Snaked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this is kinda a short wrap up for this story, but I'm just so relieved to have finished it!

Garret was healing, mentally, in the weeks that followed. Carver was still with him, helping him until he could get back on the streets of Kirkwall. At some point the missing Templar became old news and people stopped asking about what Carver did to him. In truth, he'd shoved the man into the sea with his armor to weigh him down before returning to the Blooming Rose to offer sufficient payment for everyone to forget his brother was ever there.

Varric asked countless times how much that had cost him, offering to get him back some of his money, even, but Carver wouldn't tell him. He wanted to be the one to save Garret from this, just this once. If the others thought that odd, they didn't say so to his face. Even Anders, who had attempted to console Garret when the man was back on his feet, seemed to back off and let Carver handle it; Carver, who was known for his coldness towards his brother. 

"Brother?" Looking over his shoulder, Carver smiled, blinking wearily as he woke up.

"Garret." He rolled over in bed and stared at his brother. For a short while he'd moved into their mother's old room, at least officially, and had just dozed off in bed just as the sun set. He'd talked to Cullen and explained his absence, leaving out the fact that his brother's attacker was a templar, of course, and Cullen was understanding, giving him plenty of time to help his brother cope. Carver had to go back, though. At least until the time came where he had to choose between Garret and the Order.

"Sorry for waking you up but you're leaving in the morning and I just wanted to say thank you." He groaned and grabbed Garret's arm, pulling him into bed too.

"Shut up and let me sleep." There was no real harshness in his voice, not like there would have been years ago if Hawke had done this. Now he sounded playful almost. Teasing, even. "Or better yet, how about you thank me without so many words?"

"Carver!" One of his hands found the ribbon keeping Garret's robes tied tight and he pulled it, watching in fascination as it fell open before Garret hastily pulled it closed again. "No. You'll get carried away and never leave this bed if I let you do that."  _ Let me do that _ , Carver thought with a hint of disgust. He pushed Garret away and put his arm behind his head, watching his brother fumble to retrieve the gold ribbon and tie it tightly around himself. 

He didn't like thinking Garret was just  _ letting  _ him do what he wanted. Made it sound bad. Made it sound as though Garret disliked it.

"Very well. You should probably go to your room and sleep then." There was no hiding the bitterness in his tone, as much as he wished he could. Carver was doing his best to pay for the long lasting resentment he had held for Garret, and being snappy with him wouldn't help Garret forgive him. 

"Carv-"

"It's okay, brother. We'll talk in the morning." In the morning, when Carver was set to leave and not come back until Kirkwall calmed down. He expected his brother to get up and leave after that, stomping back to his bedroom. Instead, Garret moved to sit on him, straddling his hips.

"Don't pout, Carver. I don't want to fight. Not when so much can happen while we are apart." That made him flinch. So much  _ could _ happen, and had. Garret was assaulted and nearly  _ died  _ while Carver was busy hunting mages. A templar, a man Carver knew, almost took this man away for good. A soft kiss on his lips pulled him from his thoughts. "If you're good maybe I'll change my mind."

"Get off. I'm not interested in  _ convincing _ you to do anything." A look of very pure adoration crossed his face and suddenly he was kissing Carver again.

"That's exactly what I love about you," he whispered, hands roaming down to Carver's belt which he fell asleep in.

"You what?!" It was no secret they didn't say that phrase. Obviously it was true, for both of them, but after so many years of fighting and deep rooted resentment and jealousy and being brothers in arms, neither of them  _ had  _ to say it. They already  _ knew _ . 

“They’re asleep." Bodahn and Orana, of course. 

“You’re sure?”

"Yes." This wasn’t how they usually did it. In fact, of the dozens of times they’d had sex, only twice had it been in the real physical world.

“Garret, come here.” Uncertain, Hawke leaned down, face just over Carver’s. “I’m going to miss you. I’ll come back and visit often, I swear.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine here, I have my friends. I’m more concerned about how you’ll fair, without me.” Hawke’s tone was teasing and without really meaning to, Carver smiled.

“Miserably, I’d imagine.” Although he tried to sound like he was joking, they both knew he was serious. 

“Honestly, maybe I’ll just have to visit you sometimes.” Everything grew tense in the room, and not in the fun way. Carver was stiff beneath him, also not in the fun way.

“Garret,” he started, but Hawke closed the distance between them and kissed whatever he was going to out of mind.

“I know, I’ll stay away. Now, I think I have a thank you ready.” Some of the tension eased out of him, but it wasn’t until after, when they both lay panting and tired, that he was able to calm down and breathe easy.

Beside him, Hawke had already dozed off already. His back was facing Carver and he had to look away from the scars mapping his brother’s skin. He’d considered staying, at first. Keeping his brother safe, staying at his side.

But the corrupt templars deserved to pay, and Carver could make that happen, slowly. He’d keep the mages safe, the only way he could.

By gutting the templars from the inside out.


End file.
